Fulfillment
by Sloane131313
Summary: Told from Severus's point of view: how he came to be Headmaster again, how Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts and his life, and how they overcome past perceptions to start fresh. With a little help from the castle, of course. I started this story months ago, but now writer's block. Help feed the muse with reviews please:)
1. Chapter 1

Returning to the castle had been a blessing he never expected. He had not wanted to return. Ever. Why return to the place that was the literal setting for almost every nightmare that tormented him? He had not returned when the memorial was held. He had not returned upon the re-opening of the school. Nor the Ministry Ball commemorating one year since the end of the war. Not for one of the many invitations extended by former colleagues to have tea or an after dinner drink. He definitely did not return when word leaked that the Interim Headmistress McGonagall could not gain access to the Headmaster's office and suites. (Minerva swore vehemently she was a place holder and had no interest in the job long term.). No one had been able to access them since that final, horrible day when Voldemort was defeated.

Though he didn't return, he did correspond with many of the staff. Apologies had been made, weepy friends and fellow order members appearing upon his threshold begging forgiveness for their stupidity and folly. What could he do but acquiesce? In his mind, there was nothing to forgive. These people had believed what he and Albus had wanted them to believe. It was the only way their plan would have worked. And, they were the closest he had to family. So he offered them the absolution they sought and asked them never to speak of it again.

He tried not to think of Hogwarts, too many conflicting emotions, but in spite of himself he was intrigued by the stories of unusual behaviors by the castle itself. While the structure itself had rebuilt the areas damaged during the Final Battle, it was not the same. The inability to gain entrance to the Headmaster's office was just one quirk. Certain areas of the castle could not be illuminated, not by magic or sun shining through the windows in the area. The staircases seemed to take a malicious joy in sending Board of Trustee members and Ministry officials on an infinite loop until they realized they were literally getting nowhere and departed in a huff. The house elves were sullen and though they carried on their work as before, they muttered about how the castle was not happy and it would not be a good place to live until it was happy again. When asked to elaborate, they only replied with a variation of the same answer, "That's the castle's business." They would say no more.

And the animals of the Forbidden Forest, that was another thing. No birds flew on the grounds, no small wildlife were seen, even the Great Squid had not surfaced and some feared he had been another war casualty. But at night, the sounds from the Forest were unsettling. Mournful cries of all manner of creatures filled the evening with a dreadful sound that filled listeners with sorrow. There was no explaining it but everyone sensed this was another byproduct of the castle's surly mood.

Magical architects and engineers, seers, shaman, even a Headmaster from America, were all brought in to try to find the source but to no avail. They all sensed something was terribly wrong but it was beyond their powers to pinpoint the source, much less fix it. Hogwarts was not like other buildings and so could not be repaired as such.

Yes, the school was reopened and the students were safe but there was no denying it was a different place than before and not because of any events that had happened during the war. No, everyone could tell, the castle was unhappy, as fussy as a baby wanting a bottle. If only the solution were that simple.

In a last ditch effort to rectify the situation, Minerva showed up on Severus' doorstep asking him to come back and have a look. Just to give his thoughts. Nothing more. He wasn't sure he believed her, she'd been trying to convince him to accept a post there since before he was even healed. But she insisted that things were getting worse, more rooms were locking themselves and unable to be opened, entire hallways had disappeared behind stone barriers. As the only living former Headmaster (she hadn't meant that to sting and yet it had), couldn't he return and assess the situation? He had previously had a bond with the school, maybe he could interpret what it wanted, what it needed. So he agreed. She was a tenacious witch and he felt he owed it to the castle to try if nothing more.

It had been rather simple really. What it wanted was him and it was immediately apparent they both needed each other. He knew this truth the moment he crossed through the gates. Every fear he'd had about returning was wiped away once he was on the grounds. And upon entering the castle, an effervescence bubbled through him seeming to cleanse the cobwebs in his mind, the terrors of the past, the aches in his body. The castle responded in kind, putting on a display of playfulness and joy culminating in the staircase taking Severus and the delegation of officials in attendance straight to the entrance of the Headmasters office. When the doors opened, no one was allowed through until Severus had entered. Not a word was said but a decision had been reached. Hogwarts had found its Headmaster.


	2. Chapter 2

He had not thought of Miss Granger in some time. Not true actually, he thought of her daily when dressing because the scars on his neck should have been fatal if not for her quick actions. But, those thoughts were fleeting, almost subconscious now. Of course, he heard about her from Minerva, order members, the newspapers. She was a part of the great Golden Trio, after all. But unlike the two male members, she had left Wizarding Britain. Australia first, to retrieve her parents (yes, he knew all details about that) and then to the Roman University of Wizardry for her studies. Good for her, he thought, as well as out of sight out of mind. He didn't want to admit to himself that he dreaded meeting her again. Their last "meeting" would inevitably be brought up and he would have to thank her for saving his life. Which he would do and try to be gracious about it but he didn't have to relish the opportunity. He'd rather not think on it and he found himself undeniably grateful that she had removed herself to the continent. Any chance meeting between them was unlikely. One day she would return and they would run into each other at an Order gathering or in Diagon Alley, but he hoped to be more prepared for that inevitable meeting given time. Otherwise, he chose not to think about it.

There were too many other things on his mind now that he was back running the school. Students, budgets, curriculum, pleasing the Board, the Ministry, the staff and the parents all at once. It was a juggling act to be sure but one he found he enjoyed. Any protestations to his return as Headmaster melted away once the offended party reached the grounds. His reputation had been cleared by the government and in the press once certain information was leaked. It was rather anticlimactic, really. He was still a source of interest and mystery to many and, yes, he did seem to have become the object of fascination for a surprising number of witches and wizards. A steady stream of rather personal mail arrived each week. After opening a few and getting the gist of them, he asked the castle to "redirect" them. Where they went he did not know nor did he care.

Public appearances by the Head of Hogwarts were required on occasion and though he enjoyed seeing old friends and acquaintances, he was not pleased by the fawning witches and wizards drawn to him by his newfound fame and position. It was difficult to dismiss these people without hexing the lot of them but he somehow managed. The patented Snape sneer was enough to run off most. A few words that brooked no argument dispatched the rest. He was still a foreboding - some might say terrifying - figure. What would he want with these people anyway? Fair-weathered friends wanting to latch themselves to him to raise their standing or would-be lovers willing to trade their physical affections for the same. Disgust and contempt were the only emotions he felt when approached by the like.

Minerva, in full mother mode, worried over his lack of a social life. Code for a woman, of course. But, he felt no compunction to enter into any such relationship. Yes, he was a man and had the same needs as any other but it was never fueled or inspired by a particular witch. In fact, he found himself rather disconcerted that while his libido was healthy enough when at Hogwarts, he was left cold before each woman he interacted with, regardless of any sterling qualities she possessed. He assumed, rightly so, that the traumas of the war years were too fresh and entering into even a casual relationship was premature at this time.

Perhaps misunderstanding his reticence for insecurity, Minerva - and other staff members - tried to assure him in their way that he had never looked better, had never been so pleasant and relaxed, and that the power now infused within him upon his return to the castle was positively electrifying. He initially believed these to be nothing more than pep talks but the look in some of their eyes told him they were being completely forthright. But, if he wasn't ready, what was the point? He was content with his life now, invigorated by it. If a relationship were in his future, it would happen on its own time. He felt no inclination to force or pursue one.

In the spring of his third year as Headmaster, the Muggle Studies teacher put in his notice. The ministry under the leadership of Shacklebolt, were looking for a complete revamping of the course. They had no actual thoughts to how it should be changed, only that it needed to instill a healthier respect for Muggle culture in a world still reeling from the reign of Voldemort. This was too much for Lavitius Lampley, he wanted a smooth road to retirement not an overhaul of his subject with assured constant input from the government. And so, this was how he found himself in need of a new Muggle Studies teacher for the Fall.

Clearly not an easy task. Within the Wizarding community, Arthur Weasley was considered an expert on Muggle culture and many of his understandings and associations were ludicrous. It had to be a Muggle born Witch or Wizard who was comfortable in both worlds. One that had been in Britain during the War so as to have context on the gravity of their teachings. And most importantly, it should be a graduate of Hogwarts. Some felt this was not absolutely necessary but he considered this requirement to be essential. The candidate must have a firm grasp of the dynamics between the Houses. And, he could sense the Castle wanted one of its own to return. Yes, it made the pool of possibilities much smaller but if you were going to do something, do it right.

Initially, Minerva had been suspiciously devoid of any suggestions. How very unlike her. But eventually she admitted that there was someone she thought a perfect fit but they still needed persuading. Unimpressed by the applications submitted thus far, he urged Minerva to convince them to interview and he would take care of the rest. Providing they were qualified, of course.

The next day she smugly entered his office and handed him an application announcing, "here's your new professor!" Raising an eyebrow, he scanned the page and almost dropped it to the floor once he saw the name Hermione Granger. He should have known.

His first reaction was panic. He covered it well but his heart was racing. He wasn't ready to face her yet! It felt as if she was the last hurdle to his recovery, meeting the brilliant Golden Trio member who had saved his life and then thankfully left him alone. He didn't want to owe anyone else, didn't want to feel some unrepayable debt hanging about his neck. But, before he could descend into a full blown panic attack, the forces of the castle flooded him with peace and assurance that this would not be the reality. Let her interview, it soothed, there will be no harm in that.

If he knew nothing, he knew he could not fight the castle when it was set on a course. Coupled with the fact that she was a perfect candidate, he turned to Minerva and said, "Set up an interview at her earliest convenience."


	3. Chapter 3

The interview was set for one week from Friday. So, nine days now to prepare himself. He sighed deeply. This was usually when his inner monologue kicked in, though he suspected one of the voices was influenced by the consciousness of Hogwarts.

"Prepare yourself for what? It's just an interview. You've conducted countless before."

"It is NOT just another interview. It's an interview with HER."

"Alright, so she saved your life. How many times did you save her and her friend's lives, hmmm?"

"That was different and you know it! I was honor and duty bound to protect them. They were children and my charges, I might add. Not the same."

"Assuming that's correct, let us follow that logic, shall we? James Potter saved your life and was not honor-bound to do so."

"What?!!! Do NOT say that name and he did not save my life! It was his fault I was there in the first place! Honor bound?!? That man knew almost nothing of honor."

"His intent was not to kill you and so, yes, he did save your life. Did you feel uncomfortable around him after that?"

"Yes, in fact, extremely uncomfortable and you damn well know it!"

"Oh, give over, Snape. The point is, you have saved people's lives and they've saved yours. What exactly is it about this particular incident that so bothers you?"br

"Well? Nothing to say? That's a first. Out with it already."

"Maybe...perhaps I wanted to die and her actions denied me that."

"Really? That's the best you can come up with?!? Are we to now ask every person prior to saving, 'ehmm, excuse me, but are you absolutely sure you'd like me to save you from this charging Hippogriff? Take your time thinking on it, I'll just wait.' Ludicrous."

"I am not going to argue with myself, it's idiotic!"

"Well, get over your silly qualms about the woman and STOP arguing with yourself."

"No, because I'm WRONG!!"

"Ah, well, on that we can agree. Now that that's settled, how about a spot of tea?"

That last bit sounded a bit too much like Albus Dumbledore so Snape cast a quick eye to the portraits in the room but couldn't see the former Headmaster skulking about any of them. He had better not be! There was plenty enough for him to fret about with the Granger visit fast approaching.


	4. Chapter 4

Logically, he realized he was blowing this meeting with Miss Granger out of proportion. It truly was just an introductory meeting after all. It didn't mean she'd ace the interview and he would have to hire her. Wishful thinking, of course, he thought with a sigh, she'd be as predictably perfect as always - typical - and in all good conscience, he'd be forced to offer her the position.

However, he could emphasize the more odious aspects of the job and the realities of living as an adult at at Hogwarts. Yes, that line of reasoning had possibilities . She would be isolated from her friends, forced to conform to Ministry standards and rigorous oversight in this new iteration of the Muggle Studies professorship (the government was providing half of the salary, they could dictate as they liked). Her peers would be elderly in comparison to her and the students...well, they could be overwhelming in their quantity and volume. He needn't confide that the cacophony eventually subsided to a dull roar over time, somewhat like the sound of the ocean. Almost soothing, really. Nor did he need to expound on the profound satisfaction to be found in the teaching profession.

A young, vibrant person could 'wither on the vine' out here in the lonely wilds of Scotland. Be forgotten about entirely. For an ambitious overachiever such as Miss Granger, this seemed the perfect avenue to pursue. He mustn't seem as if he didn't want her to have the job lest her stubbornness kick in and she reacted by fighting for the job just to spite him. No, he would have to be subtle, but, as was often said, "Subtle, thy name is Slytherin." (Yes, he was aware of the other "forms" of this phrase, "Suck, thy name is Slytherin." "Snake, thy shame is Slytherin." Juvenile attempts at best and everyone knew puns were the lowest form of humor.)

He should probably be aloof as well. Easy enough, it was his default setting. Not completely horrible, thus bringing the wrath of Minerva upon him, but cool and remote with the right amount of condescension to remind her who she was dealing with. She had probably heard stories of a kindler, gentler Snape. Well, he'd make sure she was set right on that score.

He glanced down at the cover of this morning's Daily Prophet. There she was on the front page running into the arms of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley upon her return from the continent. 'Golden Trio Together Again' blared the obnoxiously large headline and the cover photo showed her lithe but curvaceous body gliding into the arms of those two oafs. Her hair streaming like ribbons in the breeze behind her. Her delicate, heart-shaped face ever so earnest in her joy as a few delicate tears ran perfectly down her porcelain cheeks. He couldn't have THAT teaching here! Every witch and wizard in the school would be half crazed by lust or jealousy within a fortnight! It was a disaster waiting to happen. If he who was not perfection personified had to fend off regular amorous advances from students (and a few staff), how would she fare? No, he'd have to watch her like a hawk and he did have more important things to do, thank you very much. Yet he found he was still staring at the moving picture and thinking he might rather enjoy watching her constantly. Hexing any student or staff who harassed her in any way. Maybe she would be so distressed by these unwanted attentions she would be overcome with gratitude at his chivalrous protection and throw herself into his arms...

Where the bloody hell had that come from? He promptly incinerated the newspaper and made a mental note to meditate before retiring this evening. Clearly, he was overworked and overwrought. Who was he kidding? More like overcome with the electric revelation that she was a very desirable woman now and he was disturbingly intrigued by this updated image of her. The Miss Granger in his head had been a nineteen year old malnourished girl. Brilliant and formidable but someone he thought of only as a student under his care. Under his care...suddenly he was lost in a daydream.

His hands were touching those soft curls. Stroking them gently and then catching the end of one long tress and he began to curl it around his finger, slowly reeling her head back and back until her neck was bared to him. He dipped his nose to her carotid artery feeling the pulse and breathing in the intoxicating scent of her. She was panting now, gripping his forearms to keep herself upright, breasts heaving and grazing his chest on each inhale. He tugged a bit further on the curl while simultaneously raising his head above her face, locking eyes with her as he lowered his mouth to hers ever so slowly. He nuzzled his lips against hers - so soft and warm as little puffs of air escaped along with tiny whimpers. Using his lips to push hers apart, he gently bit down on her top lip while laving the sensitive underside with his tongue. Her whimpers turned to moans. She was now using her arms to push her body fully into his. The feel of that body against his set his nerves on fire. Her hands were now caught in his hair and her lips were plundering his. The prey had become the hunted and he could only give in to the sensual onslaught of taste, touch and sounds. Suddenly, he was lifting her up so that her legs wrapped firmly about his waist and finally her core was snugly against his need. He could feel the heat of her through both of their robes. He leaned her over his desk and began to rhythmically move onto her, mimicking that ancient, carnal dance. Mouths devouring one another until he felt his lungs about to burst. He propped up a hand to better position himself but it landed on a slip of paper and he lost his balance -

Severus came back to himself half crouched over his desk and found that his hand had indeed slid on a piece of paper but there was no warm witch beneath him moaning his name. He suddenly realized exactly where he was and swiftly looked around the room. Had he been making any noises? Had the portraits heard or seen him acting out this sinful little daydream?!?! He peered intently at each portrait but all seemed to be asleep or paying no attention. Thank the Gods! But, did some of them look a little too innocent? He glanced up again and made eye contact with Headmaster Black who stared at him completely emotionless for a moment, then winked at him and turned away with a smirk. Merlin's underpants, this was a disaster in the making.


	5. Chapter 5

She would be here tomorrow. He didn't feel prepared, though he'd crammed as if it were a test. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he had spent at least an hour in front his bathroom mirror each night having a one-sided conversation with an imaginary Hermione Granger. Each evening, he would calmly begin his evening ablutions only to find himself pacing in front of the mirror having gone on a long diatribe about the responsibilities of teaching, the pitfalls of overconfidence, the isolation of a young professor, all while making emphatic points with his toothbrush. Facing Voldemort on a regular basis was less nerve wracking and he couldn't fathom why. Why was he so worked up by this interview, by the possibility of her accepting the job?

He wasn't even sure he wanted her to have the position yet. Yes, her credentials were excellent and, he thought somewhat sourly, it would be a feather in Hogwarts' cap to have another hero of the war employed here. A Golden Trio member at that. And at least it wasn't Potter or the Ginger Menace. Somehow it still rankled though and the very idea of it set his fight or flight instinct into overdrive.

Control. He strove for it in all things. He considered self-control to be his greatest strength. Definitely not a talent born with but one hard-earned day after day in a life filled with mistakes and lashing out. During his time as a spy, he had used myriad techniques to strengthen his self control. He found that in a world where his every move was controlled by two masters - both of them madmen in their own way - the greatest satisfaction he could attain was in containing his reactions (or lack of) when engaging with others. He knew people on both sides had been gleefully waiting for him to snap from the constant pressure. Not giving them the satisfaction was all the motivation he required. His innate need to be a contrarian only helped him in this endeavor. Ultimately, it came down to this: he fought for a calm and peaceful world and so he attempted to carve out such a refuge in his mind to retreat to when necessary until that world was a reality.

And it had worked. He had lived while others at less risk had died. It was the perfect validation for the years fought tamping down his volatile anger, grappling with his need to have the final word, to always have an answer. Perfect except for one small detail; without her he would have died. Though he had taken precautions against Nagini's venom with steadily increasing doses of antivenin, the blood loss was ultimately too much. If she had not returned when she did, administered a blood replenishing potion and gotten him to St. Mungo's immediately, he would not have lived. As hard as it was to accept, there was no way around the fact. She had saved his life. And then scampered away to parts unknown without so much as a by your leave. If Miss Granger thought she could just waltz back into his life as though nothing had happened, she would be woefully disappointed.

But was that not exactly what he wanted - for them to act as if nothing monumental had happened? To leave the past completely and move forward in the present? Why was this such a conundrum? He looked at bleak eyes staring back at him as he waggled a comb at his reflection. He had to put a stop to this now. There were more important things for him to be doing. He'd not patrolled in some time and the exercise would do him good.

Sometime later he was in a fourth floor hallway lost in thought. He'd caught three stragglers and a Hufflepuff couple 'experimenting' in a dark alcove. One-hundred and ten points deducted and five detentions- a good night indeed - but his heart wasn't in it. His ears pricked up. Voices up ahead and not students. He edged closer under a disillusionment charm, on high alert, wondering what he might overhear.

"I'm so glad you agreed to come a little early! With your meeting in the morning, it's given you time to reacquaint yourself with the changes here. And tomorrow, you'll meet the staff. You'll love them! Some you'll remember, a few are new but a wonderful mix and I think you'll fit right in. After your appointment, I'll show you a few possibilities for living quarters. There are some lovely spaces all of which would fit your needs. You just decide what strikes your fancy and it's yours."

Minerva, clearly talking to Miss Granger. The nerve of her acting like this job was a sure thing. It made his hackles rise. He peered around the corner to see them settled on a window seat overlooking the lake. His vantage point was not ideal, he could see all of Minerva but only Miss Granger's profile as she looked at her mentor and snorted.

"Nothing is mine until the Headmaster and the Board agrees to my appointment."

"Just a formality, dear, The Board nor Severus would ever be so pig-headed." Really, Minerva, pig-headed? He'd show her pig-headed...

"Maybe the Board, but I must say I'm worried about my interview with Headmaster Snape tomorrow."

"Whatever for? Severus is much changed since the War, he doesn't have to wear masks anymore. He can finally be himself and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised." Minerva said this with a smugness he didn't quite care for. He wasn't a trained monkey after all.

"I want to believe you, Minerva, I do. But, part of me is convinced he won't get past the little swot I was, the animosity between us for so many years and...well, I can't help thinking he somehow hates me for being there at the end. For being the one to save him. Did you know I went to see him a few times during the first week he was in St. Mungo's? I wanted to make sure he was alright. To let him know someone was grateful for all that he'd done and that he had survived. He was mostly unconscious but the last time I was there..."

"What happened, child?" Minerva soothed, sensing sadness and unease in the younger woman's words.

"Nothing really. He wasn't lucid, he probably doesn't even remember. It doesn't matter."

"Clearly it does or you wouldn't have brought it up. You have an important meeting with him tomorrow that could affect the course of your life. We need to deal with any issues you perceive there to be between the two of you."

Her head of corkscrew curls dipped and he barely heard her whisper, "The last day I was sitting next to his bed reading. For some reason I looked up and he was staring at me. He was awake. I was so relieved, his surviving had been such a near thing. I said something like 'Professor, is there anything you need?' And he said, 'Yes, I need you to leave. I do not want you here."

She sounded so disconsolate and he had no recollection of the exchange.

Minerva harrumphed and tried to console the girl with, "that's practically an invitation to stay from him!" She followed that up with, "he was angry with everyone for a very long time, I'm sure you can understand it was nothing personal."

Miss Granger seemed to be lost in thought and picking at the seams of her robes. "He was so cold, so sure, like he was disgusted by me. I never was good enough for him - no matter how hard I tried - and I don't see that likely to change. I want this job, I truly do! It's perfect! But, I'm afraid I'm setting myself up for a big letdown. He'll find someone older, more experienced. He's placating you by giving me this interview, Minerva, but he'll never offer me a place here. I can't say that I blame him."

"Whatever are you talking about?", Minerva indignantly spouted. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"This is his home now. I could feel him when I crossed the wards. His magic and the castle's, I've never felt anything quite like it. He's meant to be here. Who am I to make him uncomfortable now that he's finally settled in his life? He deserves this little Utopia - you all do - but I think he'll just consider me a nuisance, a thorn in his side. I don't want to disrupt things here. Especially when I can start fresh somewhere else."

"Nonsense. You'll get those silly preconceived notions out of your head and meet him tomorrow with a clear mind. Don't assume how he will react to you and don't limit yourself until you've spoken. He is a man after all, Hermione."

He could see the curls spring up with her head at that comment. "Whatever did you mean by that last statement?", she said a bit defensively.

"Now, dear, only that he is a human. Not a god nor an automaton. Yes, he is powerful and he can still be sarcastic and prickly sometimes but he's a good man and above all else, fair. After all the unfairness in his life, I believe it is his greatest strength, his need for what is just and right. Do not be unfair to him or yourself. You need a chance to meet anew. A fresh start between two vastly different people than when they last met."

"I feel ashamed when you put it like that. I suppose I'm letting my nerves and biases get in the way. You're absolutely right. I'll not let my fears of what could happen dictate tomorrow. I'll go in there and knock his socks off!"

"Possibly a more toned down approach, dear, but, yes, that is the right attitude! Come along, I've got dinner set up in my sitting room and a wee bit of something for after dinner to soothe your nerves."

"You're right Minerva. I'm not going to overthink this. And I am famished!"

"You go in, I'll be right behind you."

He heard the door close dumbfounded that she was as trepidatious as he. Then he felt the unmistakable counteracting of his disillusionment charm and looked up to find himself face to face with Minerva.

"Overheard enough?"

"I was patrolling, Minerva, and I had no idea she was even here."

"So, instead of welcoming her back or, at the least, walking away and not eavesdropping on a private conversation you instead lurk in the dark listening to Hermione confide in me about her fear of seeing you again!"

"Do contain yourself, Minerva. You can be rather tiresome when you're so indignant."

Her eyes hardened and a flash of the fearsome warrior she was wrapped up in the trappings of prim, Scottish schoolmarm was suddenly revealed. "Do NOT make the mistake of letting petulant and petty emotions guide your relationship with Miss Granger. You will regret it."

At that threat, he bristled. How dare she threaten him over administrative matters of which he had full control! He was lathered up and ready for a fight when she calmly interjected, "No one would make you regret your actions ... except you. No one is harder on themselves than you are, Severus. Don't do anything you will regret tomorrow." She placed a light hand on his shoulder. "There is no need for it. You're so much better than that." And with that, she was gone.

He turned and was already halfway down a staircase before he let out the breath he'd been holding. That pinch in his chest. Shame. How strange to find he was still capable of that emotion.


	6. Chapter 6

He dreamt of her that night. Not an erotic dream, if only it had been that straightforward. Nor a nightmare, though it disturbed him greatly. Only endless sessions with a Freudian psychoanalyst held any hope of a clue as to what it meant. Maybe he'd consult a dream interpretation guide in the Library. He thought such things were all codswallop but desperate times...

Like some dreams, this one was unstructured, confusing, and seemed to carry on for hours though he couldn't remember many details. It was just a collection of images and bits of emotions. He was on the Shrieking Shack floor yet it wasn't the Shack at all, it was a clearing in the Forbidden Forest where he was encircled by a line of keys laid end to end. He remembered bugs crawling through his dusty hair which was overly long and tangled about his hips and torso. He desperately wanted up but could not move or speak. Hermione and Minerva were sitting on rickety chairs outside the circle dressed up as decadent yet tatty queens. Their voluminous, taffeta gowns were oversized and moth-eaten while the crowns on their heads were too big and kept falling askew.

He could hear his name. They were discussing him but unaware of his presence. Between their chairs he could make out an ornately wrapped present. Somehow he knew it was meant for him. He itched to see the contents; it felt almost essential to his continued existence. The two queens kept conversing without any notice of him. He experienced a jolt of supreme frustration and then glimpsed a reflection of rainbow-colored lights glinting from their crowns. When he slid his eyes left to behold the rainbow itself, it was not composed of colors as expected but completely white and incandescent. It was glorious but too intense to gaze upon so he reluctantly closed his eyes. That's when he woke up. The mixture of melancholy, nervous energy, and a strange spark of hope was all that remained.

—

He looked up at the wall clock for the thirty-seventh time that morning. Literally. Five minutes until ten. She would soon be in his office and yet he still had no idea how to handle their meeting! Feeling leaden from the psychic weight of last night's discussion with Minerva and the remaining wisps of his dream, he made a snap decision to just go with it. Uncharacteristically, he didn't want to overthink, only react. He'd deal with any consequences later.

At 10am sharp, the doors opened. He was reluctant to lift his eyes: once he saw her in the flesh, he would never be able to unsee her. It felt like an unmistakable line of demarcation in his life but he ignored the rapidity of his heartbeat and raised his head to greet her.

With sunlight flowing in from the East windows, her right half was hidden in shadow and her left side was bathed in brightness. He was viscerally reminded of the white rainbow from his dream and had to slowly blink his eyes to readjust his vision. He opened them to bouncing tendrils of light cascading from her head as she moved through the sun towards the desk. He must have been on autopilot because he heard himself blithely say, "Good Morning, Miss Granger." She seemed to glide the last few steps, slipping into her chair, "Good Morning, Headmaster Snape. It's a pleasure to be back."

With those mundane words, all the sounds of the room came rushing back to his ears and he felt as if he'd been jostled from some stupor. He cleared his voice to buy time, looked down at his paperwork, and said, "I'm glad you think so."

She looked confused and mildly offended, "I beg your pardon?"

Wrong-footed immediately! He took a deep breath, centering himself while searching for the underlying current of the Castle to bolster him. He methodically closed the portfolio before him, carefully placed the quill on its rest, looked her directly in the eyes and surprised himself with the drawling surety of his reply, "Upon returning, each of us has had to reconcile our love for this place with the horrors that occurred here in the final years of the War. I am delighted you can appreciate the pleasure in being here again."

Her face transformed from a pinched inquisitiveness to a mildly slack-jawed expression. Was she surprised with his mention of the War right away? Better to dispose of the elephant in the room at the beginning. At her lack of a response - she seemed somewhat stunned- he pressed on, "I'm impressed with your qualifications, Miss Granger. Please share with me your thoughts on our revamped Muggle Studies position."

That seemed to snap some sharpness back into her expression and she smoothly launched into a detailed overview of the job as she imagined it. He relaxed a bit as he listened. This was the Miss Granger he remembered: thorough, passionate, confident. Yet, there were slight fundamental shifts, too. Her thoroughness no longer seemed desperate. Her passion less strident and her confidence more innate and reserved. Finally, she had grown into her exceptionalism and he had a sudden, troubling thought that he shouldn't allow her to have this position - she was meant for something more than this place could offer.

Her silence ceased his reverie and prompted him to reply, "All intriguing ideas. Unlike other professorships at Hogwarts, Muggle Studies is now partially sponsored by the Ministry. Though you will report solely to me, do you have any questions or concerns regarding this partnership? You may speak freely, Miss Granger, I want to know your uncensored thoughts."

Had he uttered some unforgivable faux pas? Her face and neck began to flush a luscious pink and she stumbled over a response, "I don't think...I mean...that shouldn't be a problem, sir."

Their eyes were locked and he felt captured within her gaze. The moment seemed to drag on. He knew he should be replying but he could only look at her as his body temperature steadily rose. Desperate to end the silence, he opened his mouth and was surprised to hear himself say, "There is no need to continue this any further." A quick exhalation of her breath prompted him to quickly add, "The job is yours should you want it."

He'd clearly shocked her. Those perfect lips had formed a little "o" as her delicate eyebrows lifted up. His easy acquiescence seemed to have flummoxed her. He chuckled deeply at this thought and asked her with a not unfriendly smirk on his face, "Do you want the job, Miss Granger?"

She seemed overwhelmed with some strong emotion and was just able to huskily whisper, "Yes, please, sir. More than anything."

The earnestness of her answer coupled with an electrifying tingle from the pleading quality of her voice had him shifting in his seat. The need to distance himself from her so that he could regroup and dissect their interactions was strong but he sensed he must not be abrupt.

"I am most pleased to hear it. Hogwarts always welcomes back its own." He began to rise from his chair, gesturing for her to stand. "Let me take you to Minerva. She'll want to show you your living options, of course. After lunch in the Great Hall, the paperwork will be ready for you to sign assuming you have no second thoughts."

They had made it to the exit and he opened the door for her. "No, Headmaster, I can assure you I won't change my mind," she said in a rush. He smiled at her, once again almost stopping cold from the weight of her regard. He was nearly through this ordeal in tact, he mustn't muck it up now.

"Excellent, Miss Granger." They began walking down the spiral staircase. "I'm very much looking forward to having you on my staff." Her head whipped around and she missed a full step forcing him to quickly grasp her arm. Ah, the heat of her! Reaching the hallway, he turned to bid her farewell until lunchtime and noticed she was beet red. Was she ill? Running a fever perhaps? Then he remembered his last sentence. Gods, could he not have worded that differently?! Absolutely mortified, he gathered what dignity remained and departed with a muttered, "Until lunch then."


	7. Chapter 7

His reformed connection with the castle was a joy, a comfort, a burden, and a nuisance at varying times and degrees. Periodically, all at once. He was a solitary man: an only child with little socialization prior to Hogwarts who grew into an adult trusted by few and who trusted even fewer. He was comfortable in being alone, though. He found he craved isolation when forced to interact with too many people for too long. He needed silence to let his mind fully stretch. Ideas formed, connections were made, problems solved, all while he sat in a quiet room lost in his head.

The soul of the castle was a constant aid to him: it refined his focus, tempered some of his more extreme reactions, and imbued him with an energy he hadn't felt since he was a teen. Perhaps not even then. He was only a forty-seven year old wizard, yet his body had been through so much. Torture, stress, deprivation, not to mention his very real brush with death with the most toxic creature ever created. It was a wonder he was alive. But, not only was he alive, he was thriving. Physically and mentally. He had never hoped for such a reward after all the years of struggle and he was grateful for it every day.

However, that did not mean he always appreciated the capricious and unpredictable actions of the castle and how these affected him directly. He often thought of Hogwarts as a hovering mother, making sure he ate enough, manufacturing reasons for rest or exercise when he needed it. He was not unappreciative of being cared for in such a manner but it sometimes felt suffocating for a supremely independent person. And it was this oppressive feeling of being coddled that caused him to begin flying again one night.

It was in his second year back and seemed a day like any other. Administrative issues, meetings, conflicts to mediate. Normal and unremarkable. He had skipped dinner, needing solitude, and gone to his laboratory to wile away time with some experiments he'd been working on. He had probably missed lunch, he wasn't sure, but all of a sudden his paperwork was brusquely cleared away and a meal appeared before him on his desk like a silent reprimand. And he snapped. Rage ignited in him so quickly he felt light-headed. Without realizing it, he had wandlessly obliterated the meal. Not vanished but blown it into small bits of food, cutlery and china that were embedded in the surface of every wall in the room.

This lack of control only seemed to fuel his rage and he was suddenly claustrophobic and felt the need to be outside the weight of those walls. He ran without direction and found himself in the Astronomy Tower. Realizing the ignominious location was the final straw and without any thought he kept running until he was over the parapet edge. The same final route Albus had taken.

But he didn't fall. He flew. And flew. With each mile that passed beneath him, he felt a layer of frustration and anger peel away. It was exhilarating to revel in the simple sensations and his mind was blissfully clear and calm as he rocketed through the darkness. He wasn't sure how long he was gone but when he touched down on the front lawn, he felt no shame or remorse. He had vowed to never use that particular skill again. Now, it seemed wasteful to deny himself the pleasure. He was the only person in the world able to do it. Why not use it? He was overcome with the certainty that the origins of the spell were immaterial as was how he had learned it, so long as it was not used for evil purposes. He gently chastised himself for how stubborn and shortsighted he could be at times.

He had entered the castle a bit sheepish at his childish display earlier. It wasn't until awakening after a very good night's rest that he came to a realization. The food suddenly appearing wasn't to make him eat. It was to make him break. Everything that had happened last night had gone according to a plan only the castle knew of. Strangely, he didn't feel manipulated or resentful. He needed an outlet and one had been provided.

So now he flew when he was stressed, conflicted, bored or happy. It was a thrilling way to vent excess emotion or energy, a new way to still his overworked mind. It was also a way to temporarily disconnect himself from the omnipresence of the castle. And he suspected the castle enjoyed a periodic break from him, too.

Hogwarts had other idiosyncrasies when it came to the care of its Headmaster and one in particular was beginning to cause him some inconvenience and stress. It involved the location of his quarters or rather the lack of location. They, of course, existed within the castle but he had learned almost immediately upon taking the job that he must enter them through a door in his office which brought him through a small entrance in the rear of his sitting room. But once inside, the landscape from the windows would change from day to day. Sometimes he would be looking out over the lake, sometimes the grounds, sometimes below the lake with a view from underwater, other times so high he had a vista above the forest.

Initially he believed this was just a trick of the castle, changing the view to please him perhaps. Once he departed his rooms from the front entrance a few times, that notion was dispelled. The rooms were actually moving. The small entrance through his sitting room always brought him back to his office and his quarters never changed in form but departing through the main entrance would find him in a different part of the castle every day. He was a bit confused at first as to why but eventually chalked it up as a protective measure enacted by Hogwarts in its uniquely impish way. It had not been a real problem the first few years but now...well, now it was.

Since Professor Granger had taken up residence in the castle his quarters had moved exactly one time. Right next to hers in the West Tower. They were both gobsmacked that first morning to almost literally run into each other as they left their rooms to go to breakfast.

"Oh, good morning, Headmaster Snape. I didn't realize your quarters were in the West Tower." She seemed apologetic as if her living in close proximity to him would not meet his approval.

"Neither did I, Professor Granger," he mused. He ignored her bemused expression and hid any confusion of their current circumstances by graciously escorting her to the Great Hall. Ensnared by the electric force of her presence and the sensual scent of her, his senses overtook any rational thought. He found he didn't ponder the relocation of his rooms that day. Rather, he seemed to float through the following hours buoyed by that small interaction with her.

Not until he re-entered his rooms that evening did he notice something new. In his parlor, French doors had appeared where there had only been windows before and they led out onto a structure he had not been aware of; a large stone balcony. As he stepped out into the evening air to investigate further, he noticed light and sound to his left. He then discovered it was a shared balcony with only a low wall separating the two areas. His first instinct was annoyance at having a neighbor in close proximity but a soothing ambient music flowed out of the open doors of the adjacent quarters. Just as his mind finally made the obvious connection - these were her rooms - she stepped out onto the balcony, her hair wrapped in a fluffy white towel and her body covered in a sumptuous terry cloth robe. She made straight for the edge and propped a glass of wine on the wall. She unwrapped her hair from the towel and ran her fingers through the tresses letting the wind play with them. She took a drink from her glass and let out a deep, contented sigh. With her face tipped up towards the moonlight and the music suffusing the air, he could only watch her as his heart rate began to pickup and his blood began to quicken. It was a heady feeling and he suddenly experienced a strong sense of deja vu. Not trusting himself to stay on the balcony any longer, he backed quietly into his room.

He couldn't live next door to her! It was too much to expect him to resist her siren song when she was so close. His frustration melted away as he realized his rooms would change location again the next day. It was just temporary and he knew a pang of disappointment that this arrangement was not permanent. But, really, it was for the best. He couldn't function properly knowing she was just on the other side of a wall from him.

He dreamt about her that night and it was slightly erotic, but tasteful, of course. He was floating in a large, heated pool and she was there. Lengths of curls bobbed around her and he yearned to reach out and touch one. She kept moving within the water and he caught lovely glimpses of flesh revealed as she twisted and turned. The sensation of being surrounded by such warmth, her alluring scent, the visual feast she presented...well, it was too much. He woke up in the midst of a powerful orgasm. It was too delicious a feeling to ruin with embarrassment so he went about his morning routine without any. As he departed his rooms, there she was again, just leaving hers. Her rooms which were still next door to his. Because, for the first time, his quarters had not moved in the night. And eventually he realized, they never would again.


	8. Chapter 8

The future. With a mate. It was difficult to fathom. He hadn't allowed himself to dwell on such "normal" concepts for many years. Relationships had been a dangerous liability for most of his life. Not that he hadn't had partners. If public speculation were to be believed - and there was an embarrassing amount of that since the war ended - he was either a heartsick virgin permanently pining for Lily Evans Potter or a rapacious rake who ruthlessly used and discarded women. Neither were close to the mark. The truth was far too mundane to be interesting.

Yes, his first and only love - so far - had been Lily but looking back on it, it was not a mature love. It was a childlike infatuation in which he latched onto her because she was his friend when he had no others, because he was lonely, because she was beautiful, and mainly because he was a young man in the throes of puberty. But with age comes clarity and if circumstances had been different, they would not have worked as a couple. He could see that now.

And the lurid stories of his borderline sadism and voracious sexual appetite? He didn't know where those came from. He supposed it was the Death Eater 'persona.' While he didn't mind some consensual dominance and submission play in the privacy of the bedroom, there was no torture chamber in which he ravaged unwilling wenches.

This unwanted interest in him as a romantic hero post-War was vexing. He had all manner of witches and wizards writing him with heartfelt entreaties of devotion, requests to fulfill raunchy fantasies, and a truly disturbed few obsessed and basically stalking him. Nothing he couldn't handle, of course, but he had to stay on his guard. Attending events outside of Hogwarts was becoming an unenjoyable chore due to the fame seekers and lunatics wanting to cozy up to him.

One time, he had made the innocent mistake of attending a Ministry dinner with Professor Sinistra. They were the only two from Hogwarts able to go and so they had flooed together. The next morning over breakfast in The Great Hall, he had lost his appetite upon seeing a picture of the two of them on the front page of the Prophet with a suggestive headline dripping with alliteration: "Slytherin Sexual Shenanigans? Has Hogwarts' Headmaster Severus Snape Found a Mate with the Sensual Sinistra?" How completely irresponsible and ridiculous! He vowed not to read that tawdry rag again. He'd be getting his news from The Quibbler in the future. To make matters worse, Aurora had cornered him later to let him know she was amenable to a casual dalliance. He gently explained that they had known each other far too long to risk their friendship over something ephemeral. Though she seemed genuinely disappointed, it had not affected their working relationship. But he made sure to NEVER be seen arriving or departing with anyone else again. His private life would remain just that - private! He would not feed such puerile speculation.

When he had been young and in the thrall of the Malfoys, he had often imagined what it might be like to be the object of someone's deepest desire. In his naïveté, he thought seduction a powerful tool. And it could be. So he had honed what natural gifts he had in his arsenal: the voice, the natural grace and elegance with which he moved, his stern air of mystery and aloofness. He'd used them all to reel in just about any woman he set his sights on. He may not be everyone's version of the ideal man but for some, he was definitely their "type."

What was his type? If pressed, he'd answer with intelligence, humor, kindness, adventurousness. That sounded like every "Wizard Seeking" personal ad he'd ever read. And if those were the only qualities he required in a partner, then he would have found one some time ago. But something was always missing. Some intangible pull or connection was always lacking. He wanted to be inspired, thrilled even. He had been alone too long to settle for anything less. And if he was meant to stay alone forever, so be it, he was content.

He liked sex. He enjoyed pleasuring a partner and being pleasured in return. Those liaisons had always been purely physical. Even if he had been in a position to have something more than a fling, it wasn't truly possible. The core of the issue was detachment. His partners never inspired more than a perfunctory, temporary lust. After the physical act, there was no longing to see the woman again. There had been a few ladies that he had entertained more than once but it was only a matter of convenience, nothing deeper. Previously, he had been in no emotional state to sustain a healthy relationship. But now, he found himself wondering...

Maybe he should start looking for someone he might ask out for a quiet dinner and see where it led. Someone to spend a lazy Sunday morning in bed with. A trusted someone to tell his most intimate thoughts to and to hear them in return. Someone that excited him to be around, who endlessly fascinated him, who could keep up with him intellectually and wasn't intimidated by him. When he imagined it, he thought of this "someone" in an abstract way. But, if he were brutally truthful with himself, there was only her. She was the one he imagined lately when his mind wandered in these directions. Only her proximity shot him through with an electric awareness. Only she seemed to ignite him past a tepid interest. Only her. And, that was the problem in a nutshell.

He was too EVERYTHING for her. Too old, too jaded, too ugly, too antisocial, too damaged. And on top of that, he was her former Professor and her current boss. To impede any burgeoning feelings, he imagined how fruitless a pursuit of her would be. She was not interested in him so he should stop fixating on her and move on.

But, was she uninterested? There were signs that indicated she was affected by him. The lovely flush of her cheeks and neck seemed so constant he had initially wondered if she might suffer from rosacea. Upon closer observation, he surmised that the blushing was for him alone. (That realization had done wondrous things to his body and mind in an instant.). She did seem to get easily flustered in his presence which was unusual for such a confident, headstrong woman. She sometimes became mute while staring into his eyes. He was tempted to use Legilimency to find out what was causing this but he would not violate her in such a way...without permission. And she did watch him a lot. He could feel the weight of her eyes whenever they were in the same room. There was definitely something there. He knew she had to feel the taut, tense and electric connection between them. It seemed too profound to be fueled by his regard and admiration alone.

But how did one push past the point of awkward awareness without pushing too far? This was where his inexperience factored in. Numerous physical encounters did not prepare a man to properly court a woman. And, he could finally admit to himself, he did want to court her. He wanted whatever she would give him. He wanted to take whatever this was between them as far as it would go. And yet, he could not decide on a course of action. He wasn't sure exactly how one went about making another their very own. And he was afraid. Afraid of rejection or, worse yet, her interest in him being cooled by some idiotic misstep on his part.

And as he pondered the possibilities of something 'more' with Professor Granger, he realized that he had not factored in the obvious baggage between them. Their past interactions while she was a student, her two best friends who he still preferred to ignore, and the strange dynamic of her having saved him. He was pleased to be alive and happier than he thought he had a right to be back at Hogwarts. But that had taken some time. His dying at the conclusion of the war had been a fact to be accepted. And he had embraced it. There was no inkling then that he would be hailed a hero by the Wizarding community and every expectation that he would be reviled and punished.

Yes, he had absolutely wished for death at the end and took a peculiar joy in knowing that he would be gone when the news of his true allegiance was revealed. She had taken that perceived respite from him. And he had been irrationally angry with her. He knew now that his feelings were fed by bone-crushing fear. He had no idea how to move forward in a world where his purpose was completed. And it terrified him to contemplate starting a new life. The task seemed monumental. Slowly, one step at a time, he had begun the process of healing, mentally and physically. The support of many colleagues and Order members coupled with his return to the soothing power of the Castle had done wonders.

So, there was baggage between them. A lot. But he found that it didn't seem important when he thought of her. He didn't see the former student, the gangly, bushy-haired, awkward know-it-all who had reminded him uncomfortably of himself. He didn't see the 'Golden Trio' triumvirate. He solely saw her, as she was now. A witch of extreme physical beauty, with one of the sharpest minds he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. A witch whose bravery was unparalleled and was fierce in her defense of what she thought was just. She was unique, a creation unlike any other. And, there was no use fighting it, he wanted her with every cell in his body. His need for more was becoming ferocious and unmanageable.

So, that was decided. She was the one. It was just that simple. Now back to the larger problem of how to proceed, how to escalate their relationship. It seemed too much, too difficult. He needed to clear his mind. Immediately. Only one thing for that - flying. Without another thought, he exited the French doors and as soon as his shoes touched the stone balcony he was off, soaring through the night.

Leaving a completely dumb-founded Professor Granger staring from her French doors at the awesome sight. It was so quick she thought she'd imagined it. But, no, she could still feel the remnants of the power surge used to propel him. Her body felt on fire from the sensation and she was suddenly and completely aroused. But that was her natural state around him now. She made her way to the bedroom to "relieve" herself so that she could think clearly. He was definitely the one for her. No denying it any longer, she was absolutely consumed by him. So, she needed to make plans. Good thing that was her specialty.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione Granger found that when there was a need that benefitted the Headmaster, Hogwarts would provide.

—

As Severus prepared for landing after a long flight, dead tired and ready for a well-earned rest, he was shocked to see an illuminated rectangle on his balcony. As he drew closer, it glowed a pale blue-green and there seemed to be a dark figure moving within it. Just as he was about to touch down, he could see steam rising from water and a lithe woman with long hair streaming out behind her was swimming languidly. His last though before landing was, "Meddling Castle!" Because there was now a heated pool stretching between his side and her side of the balcony. Or rather, there was just a pool because the wall that separated their 'sides' had disappeared entirely.

"Nice flight, Headmaster?," she liltingly inquired, leisurely floating on her back.

"Good evening, Professor Granger. Have you done some redecorating while I was away?" But he knew exactly who was responsible for this. He found himself unwittingly walking closer to her.

She dipped under the surface and sprang up right below him on the edge. "It's the darndest thing. I was wound up from the day and trying to relax, aching really, and felt compelled to come outside and this lovely pool had appeared. I can't say I'm disappointed. You should take a dip; I think it's just what you need after such a workout."

Was he imagining it or was she positively purring at him? As he looked down on her, honeyed, guileless eyes gazing back at him. She was immersed in the water with her arms perched on the side and then suddenly pushed back torpedoing away from him as she continued to hold his eyes. Where was his flustered, blushing, unsure Miss Granger? Was she possessed? And what was she wearing?! Full breasts were held by a black band and under the water she seemed to be wearing only the briefest of underwear in the same color. Was he ogling? His eyes shot up to meet hers again.

"It feels divine. You really should come in. It'd be awful for it to go to waste, don't you think?" Her body elegantly twisted and she began progressing towards him again.

He was dumbstruck and overcome. His mouth gaped open and closed like a fish for a moment. Realizing this, he snapped it shut and concentrated on a reply.

"That is kind of you but I'm afraid I haven't anything to wear." With that he began to turn and bid goodnight when her next words froze him.

"You shouldn't let that stop you." She was treading water, her seductive body barely concealed, her eyes never leaving his, her full lips quirked up in challenge.

He was having trouble thinking and forming words. "But I haven't the required garments," he almost whined, realizing he was repeating himself.

"No garments are required, but if you must, slip on some pants. I promise I won't look." Was she smirking at him? She seemed borderline dangerous and he opened his mouth to demure but instead, "I'll return directly" came out. Her kittenish grin almost made him stumble as he made his way back into his quarters.

How had this happened?! One minute he was flying while preparing for a slow courtship of this woman and now he was entering his bedroom to disrobe to almost nothing and then return to swim with her. He thought of his erection with a panic. How was he to keep that under wraps?! It had sprung up upon seeing her and nothing short of an impotence potion would lessen it (or relieving himself deep within her spasming sheath, his mind helpfully provided).

Almost in a trance, he entered his bathroom and began to disrobe. He watched himself in the mirror as if looking upon someone else entirely. When he was down to his black pants with his cock jutting out insistently, he realized he was really about to do this. His only other choice was to hide in his room like a firstie. He put on a black bathrobe and hoped he could slip it off and enter the water quickly enough to hide his arousal from her.

Returning to the balcony, he began making his way towards the pool feeling as if he were moving in slow motion. She was now sitting on the edge, opening a bottle of wine. While she was preoccupied with her task, his eyes greedily took in her body. Glistening with water, shapely legs dipping into the pool, gently curved stomach below a set of breasts so luscious and perfectly formed that he literally began salivating. Her wet hair cascaded down her back and into her lap and he was overwhelmed with the idea that she was a nymph and he was some minor Demi-god of Greek mythology.

Then he was standing before her and knew a moment of discombobulation. What to do now? She had the bottle of wine clamped between her legs as she laboriously worked the cork out of the top. He sat beside her and teased, "Are you not a witch, where is your wand?"

She slid her eyes to him and mischievously replied, "I left mine inside. You wouldn't happen to have one, would you?" Did her eyes dart down to his groin when she said that last sentence? No, he must have imagined it.

"I don't need a wand." Overcome with a surge of power, he wandlessly popped the cork. Oh, it's champagne, some corner of his mind thought helpfully as a surge of bubbly liquid shot out of the bottle and coated her neck and breasts, dripped onto her stomach and pooled in the vee of her thighs. She began to laugh uncontrollably, cinched breasts bobbing, and he could see the muscles of her torso twitching from the sudden shock of cold. He'd never witnessed anything more erotic in his life and had to clench every muscle in his body to keep from coming instantly at the sight.

"Let me help you," he murmured as he reached to take the bottle from her. His fingers encountered her hot, slippery ones and he was jolted by a current of pure need. She pushed off from the side with her hands and re-entered the pool, submerging herself fully before breaking the surface between his legs where they stretched into the water.

"All clean now. Could you pour me a glass? I've worked up a thirst. "

Gods, was he living out some pornographic fantasy? He resisted the urge to pinch himself and prove this all a dream. He poured a glass and handed it to her.

She grabbed the ledge just between his thighs to steady herself and took a long drink. "Mmmm, that is good. Pour yourself one, Headmaster. You wouldn't want me to drink alone, would you?" He could only think that the self-conscious woman he'd become accustomed to had now been subsumed by a purely sexual creature dredged from his deepest fantasies. Something within him screamed, enjoy this and don't fuck it up!

As he poured himself a glass, he deeply intoned "In this situation, it's probably more appropriate to call me Severus."

"Severus." Merlin's mercy, but he never wanted to hear anyone but her use his name again! "Then you must call me, Hermione." She was between his legs now, so close to the ledge - and his crotch - and his body was singing with the nearness of her.

"Hermione then." Had his voice ever pitched quite so low before? His body vibrated with the bass. She seemed to like it. Her head dipped back into the water, her neck elongated, and she hummed contentedly before throwing back the last of her champagne, sitting the empty glass down and grasping both of his legs to pull herself closer to him. He could perceive only her breasts and her eyes as she huskily cooed, "My name has never sounded so good."

He gazed at her, incapable of moving, feeling nothing but her hands on his thighs and the heaviness of his cock. Her hands squeezed him lightly and he hitched his breath at the sensation and then she was pushing back into the water away from him. His groin was despondent by the loss.

"Take off your robe and swim with me, Severus."

What else could he do? He drained the glass, shrugged out of his robe and slipped into the warmth.

His senses were overloaded: his body submerged in the heat of the water, the heat of his thoughts and the heat of her eyes. He was momentarily overcome and unsure. Then her hand raised from the water and a finger crooked, beckoning him. "Come here, Severus." He pushed towards her in a daze and she began to move away from him with a secretive smile on her face. He stopped, not knowing if he should continue to pursue her but she encouraged him with a breathy, "Come to me."

She was now backed against the far ledge and he stopped just short of her placing his hands on either side of her shoulders against the wall. So very close...

"What now, Hermione?" His breath picked up waiting for her answer.

"What do you want?", she asked moving toward him just a fraction but enough for her breasts to brush against his bare chest.

He groaned at the contact and closed his eyes. He was mortified by the next words that seemed gruffly forced from his lips. "I feel honor bound to inform you that this is no game, Hermione. We work and live together. What happens next is a very serious matter. Do not take it lightly."

He sounded sterner than he meant but she reacted with fluttering eyes and a slight, full body convulsion moving her entire body against him in the process as the water lapped about them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and almost stopped his heart with her next words.

"I'm deadly serious. And I need to know. Tell me Severus, what do you want?" She was almost pleading now. Her eyes were hungry and wild but held just a touch of apprehension.

It was too much. He couldn't resist her any longer and it seemed neither of them wanted him to. "Everything," he growled and surged forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm deadly serious. And I need to know. Tell me Severus, what do you want?" She was almost pleading now. Her eyes were hungry and wild but held just a touch of apprehension.

It was too much. He couldn't resist her any longer and it seemed neither of them wanted him to. "Everything," he growled and surged forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

Heaven. His body felt overcome with every good feeling he'd ever had or imagined. But it wasn't enough, it only amped up his desire. Their lips were locked in a duel to see who would break first. He didn't need air, he could subsist on her hot breath alone. Her moans and mewling only spurred his need higher. He vaguely perceived other noises too and realized he must be making them. He had her pinned to the wall with the water swirling about erratically from their movements but it wasn't enough.

He slipped his hands between her thighs in one fluid motion and placed her legs around his waist. She clamped them together and immediately her core began undulating upon his erection. Yes, that was better. The wet fabric of her top caused a strange, slick friction across his chest, stimulating his nipples in an almost uncomfortable way. Without thought, he pulled her top down and began to worship her breasts. Her cries, no longer muffled, filled the night as he took one slippery breast in his hand and latched on to to the other's nipple with his needy mouth. He began to suck in rhythm to the movements of his hips as he thrust and ground against her heat. She tore at his back with her fingers trying to find more leverage to thrust back, to grind her pussy into his iron length until she was sated.

Still it wasn't enough. His hands grasped her buttocks and began to grind her harder against him as he began suckling her other breast. She was pinned between his hands, the wall and his body. He was as close as he could get without being inside her yet was still frantic with a manic need for more. His fingers plunged inside those criminally tiny bottoms she wore and pulled them down as far as he could with her legs still grasping his torso. He let her breast pop from his mouth - a most gratifying sound - and lifted her by the waist onto the side of the pool above the water. He was eye level with his prize and knew a moment of pure savagery as he ripped the fabric down her legs until they were dangling from her ankles. He then looped her ankles over his shoulders and leaned in.

Some lucid part of his mind noticed she was propped up on her elbows, gyrating her hips, and working with her feet to get the bottoms off completely. The rest of his brain was consumed with the smell of her. He leaned his head into her center, his wet hair dragging across her thighs heightening the sensations. With his nose, he began to gently prod at her inner lips swollen and plump with need. She was jerking with little spasms and pleading with him, "yes, Severus, pleeasssse!!!!"

He nuzzled her inner thighs and pussy breathing in the scent of her. He thought nonsensically, "this is what Amortentia should always smell like." Her pleading went up an octave and he took pity on her and began to use his mouth. That taste! If he tasted nothing but this for the rest of his days he would be a happy man. It spurred him to greedier heights. His hands worked their way between her buttocks and the stone and he came out of the water further to better explore her treasure. His nose, lips and tongue worked in concert to ratchet up her pleasure. And his too, he was mindlessly grinding against the wall desperately needing any contact.

His tongue plunged in her entrance, swirling around in an attempt to gather every bit of her juices while his nose - yes, its size did come in handy sometimes - rotated around her engorged clitoris. Her legs now clamped around his head and her hands grabbed his hair yanking him to her as firmly as she could. She was reduced to a mewling, writhing mass of sensation crazed with necessity for him and a surge of triumph had him redoubling his efforts.

She was getting close, he could tell. She was using her feet for leverage on his shoulders and ramming her pussy in his face in a quest for more. He too was nearing a peak but a less satisfying one since he was only capable of humping the pool wall. He wanted her to come on his lips and in his mouth. He wanted to feel her orgasming, spasming on his tongue. He wanted to taste the completion granted only by him. He pulled his hand out from below her and inserted two fingers into her juicy channel ever so slowly. The feeling was so good he groaned into her nub making her jump with the vibration.

She was almost there. Her hips were pistoning up and down against his face and her hands were nearly pulling his hair out to keep him tethered to her. And the sounds she made; the unintelligible babble let him know she was past conscious thought. She was an animal composed of pure, physical need now and her only goal was completion. His fingers began twirling with each thrust and his mouth lowered to her smaller sphincter. His tongue circled it as she bucked underneath her. He dipped inside just a bit as she began to wail and then mercilessly he raised his mouth to her plumped clitoris and began to suck. That was all it took. He could hear her screams through ears covered by spasmodic thighs, he could feel her sheath clinching against his fingers, and he could detect a strong pulse in her nub as began to suck it more slowly and gently.

Her movements and sounds began to lessen in intensity but her hands were clawing and pulling him, trying to raise him up from the water and on top of her. He braced his hands on the ledge and pulled himself up as as she crab-walked back to accommodate him. He laid his body fully upon her and began kissing her again. She sucked her own essence away from his mouth while her feet worked to push his sodden pants down. Her need was just temporarily sated and rising again but his only relief had been her release and he needed more! Her bare body was so soft and warm under his but his knees were uncomfortable on the stone floor. Was it hurting her lying beneath him? He offhandedly wished for a bed as he continued battling her lips for dominance and once again grinding into her core with his underwear down past his hips but his cock still captured by the elastic.

He glanced up in hope of finding a more comfortable place to take her and was pleased to see there was a daybed against the wall between their rooms. With a destination in mind, he rose to his knees ignoring her cries to return and scooped her up against him and somehow brought himself to a standing position. Then he was moving to the bed and soon had her beneath him on the impossibly soft down, looming over her as he dipped his head to ravage her neck as her limbs wrapped about him pulling him onto her fully. It was amazing: the heat of her, the cool night air, the pulsing throb in his groin and the contrasting softness of this wonderful bed. Without a conscious attempt, synapses began firing in his brain and unwelcome connections were made. He suddenly realized he was no longer kissing her but had propped himself up on his elbows as she cajoled him to return. But he couldn't, something was wrong. He could feel it with a sick twisting in his stomach.

"Hermione!" He had to get through to her before they were too far gone.

"Severus, why are you stopping? I need you inside of me now!"

"We're being manipulated!", he said in a frantic rush.

That brought her out of her erotic haze a bit and she could only answer, "What?!?!"

"Can't you feel it? Don't you see? The pool, the bed, the...the overwhelming lust. We're not ourselves. We're being manipulated." The last sentence made him impossibly sad. He knew it took no manipulating of him to cause such a reaction to her but her transformation from a blushing woman to a full-fledged sex goddess bore explaining.

Her brows were now furrowed as she asked him, "Manipulated by whom?"

He knew a punch of shame as he prepared to answer because it was a misguided attempt to please him that this had all come about. "The castle." He couldn't even look her in the eye as he said it. He sat up quickly realizing suddenly what an inappropriate position he was in with her under the circumstances.

"The castle." She said slowly as if speaking to a moron. Maybe she was.

"Yes, it...". How to explain this. "It knows I want you and I believe, I know, it's manufactured this entire evening to please me."

"To please you." It unsettled him how suddenly still she was. How expressionless and forced her words had become. "Do you think I'm not capable of wanting you without the aid of the castle?" The last word was spat out as if a curse. He instinctually knew he must tread lightly now.

"I do want you and the castle knows this and it has somehow tricked you into believing you want me, too."

She pushed him off of her and stood suddenly, magnificent in her unclothed glory and radiating vitriol. He could only stare at her as blue sparks began to zap about her head. This was not good.

"So let me get this straight. You think I could not want you without being manipulated and you think me so weak-minded that the castle could push me into submitting to what would basically be a psychological form of rape. Oh, and let's not forget you think the Castle capable of this heinous crime." She was seething now and moved closer to him with an unholy light in her eyes as her entire aura seemed to crackle with blue flames. He knew a moment of pure dread.

"You don't know a damned thing, Severus Snape!," as she punctuated each word with a jab of her finger to his chest. "You do not know what is in my mind or in my heart and how dare you presume! How do you explain the fact that I've wanted you long before I returned? Huh, got an answer for that?!?!" He could only stare at her in growing horror. "Are you such an insecure, paranoid idiot that you see me naked and wanting before you and all you can come up with is some pathetic conspiracy theory? The castle! You say you want me but you can't accept that I want you in return when I'm coming on your goddamned face?!?"

The volume of that last sentence seemed to bring her back to herself a bit and she let out a shuttering sigh while wrapping her arms around herself protectively, sheets of wet hair a shroud about her. The blue flames dying to a dull flicker. She looked at him with a curled lip and spit out, "You need to get your shit together. Don't bother me until you do."

And with that she was gone with the slam of her door echoing in his ears. He was numb from the shock of all that had transpired. For a moment, he couldn't move but only feel the profound loss of her. What had he done?!?!

He shakily stood to begin making his way back to his rooms and noticed his gait was impeded by his soggy pants cinched around his hips and his somehow still erect cock bobbing upwards hopefully. "What the fuck are you looking at?" he growled as he awkwardly hitched his underwear up and waddled uncomfortably to his rooms.


	11. Chapter 11

Remorse. He was intimately familiar with that particular emotion. He thought he'd experienced the full power of it before but was distressed to realize that this was not the case. That entire night he spent in a chair in his parlour, sipping Firewhiskey and reliving the now entwined bliss and dread of his encounter with Professor Granger. No, Hermione. They were past the point of formalities in his head.

He hadn't been wrong, exactly. He knew in his bones that Hogwarts had been an accomplice in the manufactured scene of seduction last night. His fatal error was in assuming that Hermione was being coerced into doing something against her will. Thinking on it now, he firmly believed the Castle incapable of forcing a witch to have sex with him just because he wanted her. It was not a malevolent entity. It was just an impish enabler.

But it was so easy to fall back into old habits: paranoia, assuming everything around him was part of a greater plan in which he was only a pawn, feeling unwanted and undeserving of desire, affection, love. And it was all true: he'd been right to be paranoid, he had been a pawn - though a valuable one - in someone else's game his entire adult life, and he had been generally unwanted, often by design. All of these supposedly 'bad' qualities had ultimately saved his life. But the War was over. Now was a time of peace and he was doing himself no favors by continuing to operate as if he were still the reviled double-agent. If he wanted a future with a witch he would have to evolve. He would, as Hermione so succinctly put it, have to get his shit together. And once again, he could see the destination he wanted to arrive at but couldn't visualize the path. How did one overcome the instincts forged throughout one's lifetime?

He stayed in his rooms the rest of the weekend. He didn't want to see her, or anyone for that matter. He felt raw and vulnerable. He wasn't capable of placing the unaffected mask back on his face and pretending everything was normal. So he hid in his rooms and thought. Sometimes tormenting himself with constant replays of his mistakes, other times analyzing his faults and tendencies with a professional detachment in hopes of discovering a blueprint to begin changing them. It was uncomfortable, emotional work but necessary to any future happiness.

When he left his rooms Monday morning he was mortified to find they were once again departing at the same time. Seeing her was like a physical blow and the shame and remorse were upon him anew. The shock of emotion only peaked at the look upon her face when she saw him. He was clearly the last person she wanted to see. He was surprised that though she did still look angry, the dominant emotion seemed to be humiliation. He had made her feel that.

She turned away quickly and briskly walked away from him.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Professor Granger."

She didn't stop. "Hermione." The use of her first name stopped her in her tracks. She didn't turn around but only stood tensely waiting for him to finish what he had to say.

The hall they lived in was not used by another resident but he warded the area for privacy anyway and slowly walked a little closer to her so that he would not have to raise his voice to be heard.

"Hermione, I am so sorry for the fiasco of Friday night. I know how you must feel and I never meant..."

She didn't let him finish. She whirled around and asked, "You think you know how I feel?"

He might have been a dolt but he knew a rhetorical question when he heard it and wisely remained silent.

"Do you have any idea how I feel? How I felt?" She was almost whispering now and he would have preferred anger because he could see how hurt she was. "I've never seduced a man in my life. Never tried, never wanted to really. And no, I'm not saying I'm a virgin, I'm saying that I've never wanted someone enough to go after them. To put myself out there like that. To set myself up for such a monumental rejection."

"I wasn't rejecting you, Hermione," he interjected quickly but she raised a hand to keep him from speaking further.

"I do realize that now. It doesn't stop me from feeling rejected. I've thought about this all this weekend; about what happened."

"As have I", he quickly agreed.

"I'm not as angry as I was. The main feeling now is disappointment. In what could have been but wasn't. Mainly though, I'm disappointed in you."

He took a step closer and earnestly replied, "Yes, I should have never doubted you or the castle, it was foolish of me."

She looked at him sadly and floored him with her response. "That's not it. I'm disappointed that you continue to doubt yourself."

He dipped his head at that, unable to look her in the eye. It stung too much.

"But that's not the worst of it, really. Your reaction scared me. Still does."

He found his voice again quickly, "I never meant to make you feel unsafe. I am deeply sorry that you felt anything but safe in my presence."

"Please let me finish my thought so you can understand. It's not easy for me to talk to you about this but I know it has to be done. And you deserve to know the truth of it."

She seemed unsure about what she wanted to say or if she wanted to say it at all.

"I saw you fly away that night. I wanted you so badly - have wanted you so badly for so long - but I've been a frightened mouse around you, not myself at all. And I decided to stop wishing you were mine and do everything I could to show you what you do to me. Being around you, hearing you, smelling you, everything about you. I'm overcome and undone by you completely and I wanted to show you my...passion for you. And I did and you returned it. It was more than I could have dreamt of. And I've dreamt of you often, Severus."

His body surged with her last statement but suddenly grew numb at her next.

"I am attracted to your control but...we were in the throes of passion and you just turned it off, like a spigot. And it terrifies me that you're capable of that. Just shutting down. I may not have known it before that night but I do now. I want all-encompassing passion with my partner. I need it. You gave me a taste of it but to be able to halt your feelings like that? I want to be desired beyond reason, I want to inspire that in a mate. I was carried away by you and it was beautiful but you were holding back. I wanted you to be as lost in me as I was in you. And you weren't. And that's what I realized hurt the most."

He couldn't reply to that, he didn't know what to say to make her understand the depth of his feelings for her.

"I should thank you, I suppose. You've made me realize something I didn't know about myself and for that I am grateful. I don't just need a compatible partner who suits me in temperament and someone whom I admire. I need passion and electricity and unquenchable need. You gave me a taste of it. But I need it to be more, something that can't be turned off regardless of why. I wanted you to be as overcome with need as I was. That night I was capable of doing anything for you, to you, to please you and damn the consequences. And you weren't. You weren't fully consumed. Your passion didn't match mine. And what if we progressed in a relationship and you just shut down your feelings again because of some idea in your head? You could break me so easily."

"It may sound silly to you. Maybe I'm not expressing myself very well. All I know is I wanted all of you, Severus, every bit you had to give and more. I wanted everything you are but you wouldn't give it to me. I want to inspire a man to love me beyond reason, to want me past thinking. I'm afraid you just might not be capable of that."

She looked at him for a moment, sadness and remorse in her lovely face. Then she turned and was gone. He couldn't move for several moments. He could only think she'd gotten the full measure of him and found him lacking.

He turned and re-entered his rooms. A sick day was in order. The first one he'd ever taken in his entire life.


	12. Chapter 12

AN: We're getting close to where I left the story off and I need your help in getting my muse back so that I can continue writing. Please post feedback and let me know that you're reading or just send me some good karma so that inspiration will hit me. Thanks:)

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A sick day was the perfect way to describe his Monday of continued soul searching. He felt physically ill at the loss of everything that could have been and would never be, due to his stupidity. The thought of never being able to touch her again, to speak with her as more than colleagues, to never have her stare at him with those honeyed eyes backlit with desire. It ripped a hole in his chest that he feared could never be filled. Was the situation truly irreparable? Had his words and actions truly killed any hope of a future between them?

Instant anger filled him at the thought but he tamped it down. A lack of forethought and riding a wave of pure emotion had gotten him into this situation. He would use that anger as fuel to think and plan, to connive if he must - he was a Slytherin after all - and convince her to give him another chance. Some way to prove that he would not, could not let her down again.

He'd just have to dissect the problem once again. As much as his mind rebelled against revisiting the shame, humiliation, and embarrassment of that night, it was necessary. He must look at their relationship- what little there was of it - with scientific detachment until he arrived at an answer. "Their relationship." Ha, they didn't have a relationship, he sadly mused. They hardly knew each other. As soon as he thought the words, every light in his darkened rooms came on making him momentarily shield his eyes from the unyielding brightness. What the hell? If the Castle thought it could insinuate itself back into his mind when he was thinking on Hermione, it could fuck off! A magazine flew through the air and whacked him behind the head. Oh, he had screamed that last bit out loud.

His anger was peaking again from the enigmatic actions of Hogwarts but a small part of his brain was picturing the Muggle concept of an actual lightbulb to signify an idea. What had he been thinking when the lights had come on? That they didn't have a relationship. Well, that was no help, it was bloody obvious! He took a deep breath and continued remembering. His last thought before the lights came on had been that they hardly knew each other. That was true. They might be drawn to one another, magnetically attracted to each other, fascinated even, but they didn't really know one another. Not in a way that could inspire trust or enough confidence to give a rattled idiot a second chance. Could it be that simple? He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and let his mind follow this thread to its conclusion.

Later that evening, after dinner, which he did not attend, he was pondering his next move. How did he approach her? As if in answer, his French doors parted like an invitation. He reluctantly stood and approached the balcony with dread. This was, after all, the place where everything had gone pear-shaped. Almost to the door, he could hear the sounds of water. With some trepidation, he took a step onto the balcony and was taken aback by what he saw. Or what he didn't see. The pool was no longer there. No, rather it had moved completely to her side of the balcony. Where the low, stone barricade once stood, there now was an imposing wall of roses. Thick and luscious, red against a background of green leaves and dark thorns, it looked as if it had been there for decades. Instinctively, he knew it was the work of the castle, not her. Batting away any temptation to consider the deeper meanings of this living wall, he tried to focus on calming his heart rate. He could hear her swimming, could see bits of illuminated water through the few tiny openings in the plants. How to start? Was it too soon? Maybe she needed more time before hearing from him. With that, his French doors slammed shut. A small gasp and the sounds of her body moving through the water stopped. So much for going unnoticed.

There was a solid iron door in the middle of the rose structure but he wouldn't go through it unless asked. He considered it a trap that he must avoid. He sat on a bench next to the wall, took a deep breath, and began.

"Hermione, you do not have to respond to me but I would like you to listen to what I have to say. When I'm done, if you wish, we need never interact except in a professional setting. I will respect your wishes on this matter completely. But I hope you will hear me out."

At his pause, he heard nothing, no rush of water as she ran from the pool into her suites, so he proceeded.

"Friday night, when I went flying, I was thinking of you. Thinking about how to approach you. How to convince you to let me...court you." It humbled him to say that last bit, he wasn't used to admitting such personal things but he'd have to get over such inane reactions if he were to win another chance with her. Still silence.

"I am a solitary man by nature. Possibly by practice. I've had women in my life but never a relationship. Not a truly intimate one in which two partners of equal stature share their thoughts, hopes, fears. For reasons I'm sure you can imagine, I neither wanted this intimacy nor could I afford it." Not a peep from the other side of the wall but he felt an urgency within him. He must get to the heart of it quickly before she shut him out. No more vagaries, he knew he had to speak about the one thing he kept locked up the tightest to get through to her.

"I'm sure you are now aware that I grew up with Lily Evans Potter. That we were friends at school. Some details have been splashed about in the press but they do not explain the totality of the situation. They only paint an incomplete picture."

He heard water now. She was moving out of the pool. His heart dropped. He was trying to bare his soul and she was having none of it, she would return to her quarters and shut him out. He hung his head and let out a ragged sigh. But the sound of wet, padded footsteps were moving closer. He must keep her out here, so he continued in a rush.

"She was my first and only love, though looking back on it, I can't say that I was truly in love with her. Not real love. How could it be? My feelings were fueled by hormones and possessiveness. We loved one another as friends - that was very true when we were children. We were best friends and sometimes it felt like we were all the other one had in the world. My home life and her being a Muggle-born witch pushed us to one another, to protect one another. But eventually, when we became old enough to crave a romantic love, she found hers elsewhere. She wasn't attracted to me, she didn't think of me in those terms. And she knew me better than anyone in the world. And the hurt I felt, the shame of knowing I wasn't handsome enough, funny enough, admired enough... Whatever it was she found in James Potter, she never found it in me. That rejection proved to be a turning point in my life. "

"I in no way blame her, I don't want you to come away thinking any of what happened to me or my own subsequent actions were brought about by anything but my own decisions. We ultimately love who we love, in some ways it isn't a choice. And she didn't love me that way and, as an adult, I can see that I didn't really love her either. Not romantically, not truly. I wanted her, I loved her as a friend. She was beautiful, safe, and familiar. And I was, after all, a teenage boy."

He heard a small sniffle. She had moved closer to him. He pitched his voice lower to lure her closer.

"So, as a grownup Wizard of forty-seven, I've never been in love before. I've never tried. Never met anyone who I wanted to try with. Until now."

A soft inhalation of breath and then silence. He forged ahead. He was nearing the crux of the situation as he saw it.

"I'm not in love with you. I would like to think that particular emotion is far more complicated than attraction, fascination, even compatibility of temperaments. It's about knowing someone. Taking the time to discover their hopes, fears, fantasies, eccentricities, habits, secrets, faults, and wanting to know more. Companionship, support and trust." He almost whispered the last word, he felt so vulnerable now.

"Maybe I'm not qualified to speak on what Love is or isn't, having never really experienced it. But I want to try to love someone. Have someone love me in return. I want to love you. You're the only one I've ever really wanted to try with..."

The well of inspiration and words was now dry. He didn't know what else to say to communicate the depths of his feelings. Of his need for her. She must decide now how they proceeded.

He waited in the thick silence that followed. Hoping for a reply and fearing one at the same time. The moment stretched out as his fate seemed to twist. Her next actions would decide everything or doom him to nothing.

He started at the sound of the gate slowly opening. She stopped in the entrance, dressed in a white terry cloth robe and pierced him with red, rheumy eyes. He froze as if she were a forest creature that could be spooked by the slightest movement.

"How do you propose we do that?," she simply asked.

"I would like us to get to know one another. Truly know each other and build trust." He pinned her with his eyes and couldn't help smoldering as he uttered his final words, "Make no mistake, my intentions are to court you. It may seem old-fashioned but I want you to be mine. I want to be yours."

She took a stuttering breath and tilted her head as if considering. This was it. Her final decision. He was rigid with anxiety waiting for his punishment or reward.

"Pick me up at 7pm this Thursday night. You decide where we go. Let me know proper attire by Wednesday."

He could only stare at her. Could it be that simple?

She turned to walk back and then stopped. "I'm giving you another chance, Severus. Don't screw it up."

And with that she was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

The task seemed daunting. A puzzle more difficult than any he had ever faced. How did a man who had never been on a date plan the most important one? A first date with the woman he wanted for all time. There seemed to be no room for errors. If he made the wrong choices, there would be no other dates, no relationship.

This was no seduction attempt unless one considered he was trying to seduce her into loving him. And she was too smart and wary for manipulation. She'd sense any falseness immediately and it would be over. He had one chance to get this right. With his lack of experience, it seemed an insurmountable task.

He struggled to consider the issue from all sides. It had to be an activity they would both enjoy. Nothing forced though. Picking her up with a corsage in hand and whisking her away for a night of dancing seemed laughable. That wasn't him. And he didn't know if she liked dancing. Or flowers for that matter. And wasn't that the root of it: they didn't know each other well enough. Frustratingly, it seemed he was back to square one.

Could a date - how he loathed that term, it seemed infantile and pedestrian, but what else could he call it - be used to show her parts of himself? Could he open himself up to her and begin an unspoken dialogue just by his choices of venue and activity? That seemed a promising idea. He began to consider what he would like to do with her - not physically, there would be time for that later. How to have an intimate evening in which she felt he was opening himself to her alone. Showing her aspects of himself no one else had been permitted to see. But, also not overwhelm her, it was a first date, after all. Hmmm, reconnaissance was necessary. He was a spy after all. Tuesday afternoon he apparated to Edinburgh.

Wednesday morning he exited his chambers through the exterior doors. He was hoping to run into her. That she was departing at the same time made him feel that the Castle approved of his plans. He hoped this was not wishful thinking.

"Good Morning, Hermione."

"Headmaster, Good Morning." Her cheeks tinged a slight pink upon seeing him and made his heart beat faster.

"When we are alone, I prefer that you call me Severus." He dipped his voice a tad lower than normal, but the deepening stain of her cheek made him feel less self-conscious.

"We missed you at dinner last night, Severus. I hope you're feeling alright."

"Very much so. I had some preparations to make for tomorrow night." At the mention of the coming evening, her eyes widened slightly. Had she thought he would put no effort into it at all?

"Oh..." was all she seemed to be able to muster in reply. He stepped closer to her and gently tipped her chin up with his index finger and soberly asked, "Are you having second thoughts, Hermione?"

She seemed momentarily stunned but quickly replied, "Not at all."

He dropped his hand and murmured "Good " with an uplifting of his lips, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk.

"You asked me to inform you of dress. Muggle fashion, if you please. Nothing formal but more than casual. Is that specific enough?"

"Well, what will you be wearing? That should give me an idea."

"A suit. A Muggle suit."

That faraway dreamy look had returned to her eyes and he was exultant. He'd feared never seeing it directed at him again.

"Hermione, does that help in your choice of attire?" He couldn't help the satisfied look on his face as he basked in her visceral reaction to him.

"Yes, I think I have just the thing." The suddenly soothing tone to her voice made him wonder if he would make it through tomorrow night with his dignity in tact. No matter, dignity was overrated.

"Until then." With a slight bow of his head, he swept down the hall attempting to stay cool until he was out of her sight.

At the agreed upon time the next evening, he walked onto the balcony. He stepped through the now open iron gate amidst the rose bushes and made his way to her French doors.

He softly knocked and waited a tad anxiously for her to answer. He tried not to think of how much rested upon the outcome of this evening. When she opened the door, all thoughts fled and his reaction was entirely physical.

Her hair was down in soft waves and she wore minimal makeup that seemed to make her glow. He especially liked the mauve-rose stain on her full lips. Glancing down - he mustn't look too long or it would seem he was ogling her - he was presented with a floaty dark green dress with a floral pattern scattered about it. Hugging her form, the bodice was snug on her torso and the neckline was a vee, showing a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage held up by thin straps. Her legs were bare and she wore gold high-heeled strappy shoes. He was intrigued by the glint of dark red toenails and knew a moment of wanting them in his mouth. He shook his head to clear that image. "You look lovely tonight."

"So do you," she responded immediately. He didn't think of himself as lovely but he hoped his efforts to look presentable for her had not been in vain. He'd chosen a medium charcoal single breasted suit. It was expertly tailored and showed off his svelte figure. A white shirt, deep red tie (almost the color of her toes), and black Italian wing-tip lace ups completed his ensemble.

"Are you ready to depart?"

She stopped her perusal of him to turn back into her rooms. "Let me just get my wrap and purse.". He stepped in as she picked these items from the couch and assisted her in draping the cashmere pashmina around her shoulders doubly taken with the sensual feel of the fabric and the heady scent of her.

Turning to him, she said "I'm ready" and began making her way towards the main doors.

He did not move. "Hermione, we'll leave from the balcony, if you don't mind."

A slight panicked expression came over her face and he realized she thought he would try to fly them. Her aversion to that activity was well-known.

"We'll be apparrating."

"Don't we need to go to the apparaition point then?"

"No, I'll take us from the balcony." He took her hand and led her outside. She seemed a bit confounding at the thought of apparating within the grounds of Hogwarts but there were perks to being Headmaster. He then gently wrapped her in his arms, looked her in the eye and asked, "Ready?" Her "Yes" came swiftly and she pressed herself closer to him. He was elated at the level of trust she was showing already. Merlin, he hoped he didn't muck this evening up.

As they twisted into a small street, she immediately asked, "Where are we?" He took her hand as he told her they were In Edinburgh. Departing the deserted alley, they were in a bustling, brightly lit street filled with old buildings. Clearly, this was a fashionable area of town and he hoped she approved.

She squeezed his hand with a smile on her face, somehow freed by their anonymity in the crowd of Muggles and asked what he had planned for them.

Wicked replies were on the tip of his tongue but he wrestled them back and blithely told her, "I believe the Muggle tradition of a first date requires dinner and a movie."

She giggled at this and he stole a glance at her and saw that she was smiling, radiant even. He breathed a little easier as he wove his way through the crowd to their first stop, a cozy converted storeroom now restaurant called The Grain Store, known for fresh local Scottish produce and a romantic but laid back environment. He hoped she approved.

She did. They enjoyed a fine meal, good wine and light talk about the city, past trips they'd each taken there, other reminiscences. Nothing too heavy and the conversation flowed nicely. After the conclusion of their meal, he slipped her wrap back on and began walking her up the street as she inquired about their movie.

This was a calculated gamble. He loved old Muggle movies and was intrigued to find out that one of his favorites was playing nearby at the Cameo Picturehouse. Though a silent classic, it was considered a horror film and he hoped this wasn't inappropriate. And though there was the risk of her reading too much into some convergence of the plot and his past, he wanted to share this with her. As a child, sneaking into the movie theaters of Manchester for endless showings was his preferred method of escaping his family. This particular film had made a great impression upon him. The look of it, the costumes and sets, and the story, of course. These all predated his entrance into Hogwarts and everything that followed and he wanted to share this with her.

"The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari!," she read excitedly from the marquee. He looked at her, worried by this sudden spike of emotion but she seemed genuinely pleased. She turned her face up to look at him as they queued in line and shyly admitted, "This is one of my favorite films. How did you know?"

"I didn't, though I'm pleased to hear it. This is a movie I've loved since I was a young boy. I'm glad you approve." She grinned at him with sheer joy and he felt some heavy weight lift as they made their way inside.

Later, alone in his rooms, he thought back on the smell of buttered popcorn, her perfume, the weight of a lock of her hair on his shoulder as they sat in the dark mesmerized by the picture. He had seen the movie countless times and so half of his attention was on her. Her perfect profile flickering with the changing lights. That lovely, expressive face reacting to the action on the screen. Her relative ease at his nonchalant moving of his shoulder to the back of her chair. At an especially tense portion of the story, she tucked in tighter and he involuntary squeezed her closer. It was blissful and when the lights came up, he was wishing it had been a double-feature so he could stay nestled with her longer.

They didn't talk much as they made their way back to the alley but it was a comfortable silence and he realized halfway there they were holding hands. He wasn't sure when that had happened or who initiated it but he wasn't complaining. Wrapping her in his arms again, he apparated them back to her balcony.

"I had a lovely evening, Severus. It was...just right." Her eyes were earnest and sparkling.

"I am very glad. I enjoyed it also. I hope you'll let me escort you somewhere again soon."

"Of course, I'd love to. Soon." She was blushing again and her eyes were pinned to his chest. She suddenly raised up on her toes and left a lingering a kiss upon his cheek. "Thank you for a lovely night."

He lifted her hand to his mouth and gently kissed the back of it. Then, he tenderly flipped it over and left two lingering kisses: one on her palm and one on the inside of her wrist. A soft hiss slipped past her lips and he glanced up to see her eyes were dilated. With desire, he hoped.

"Sleep well, Hermione, and pleasant dreams." He turned to walk away knowing he would be dreaming of her tonight and hoping fiercely she would dream of him, too.

AN: Well, this is where the Muse left me. I'm re-reading now to get back my mojo and hope to have something to post in the next couple of days. Thank you all for reading! Your PM's and reviews are like fuel!:)


	14. Chapter 14

Stretching in bed Friday morning with the knowledge of having pleased her with his date last night, delicious contentment traveled through his body. He had met the first challenge of courting her. The feeling of a hard-won victory coaxed a secretive smile from his face. Luckily no one was around to see – his smiles tended to terrify most people. Ahh, but not Hermione. She had seen many smiles upon his face last night. And, most importantly, his smiles were welcomed by her. They seemed to delight her. He could become addicted to delighting her.

Strangely enough, his dreams last night were not sexual or suggestive in any way. The scenes playing out within his nocturnal mind were almost mundane but nonetheless seductive in their way. There was warmth and sunlight and her unhurried smile. A sigh, a laugh, murmured conversations about ordinary topics as they walked hand in hand. The scene would change and they might be in a kitchen cooking or in his living room reading, but the sense of a sure, unbreakable connection was at the core of each tableau. One surprising location was Rannoch Moor. He went there often to walk, think, brood. He had heard others refer to him as a modern day Heathcliff, and though he thought the comparison ridiculous, he could almost feel a kinship with the literary character when he journeyed along the windswept scape. Rannoch Moor was his solitary place where he could escape distractions and worries. It had been his place of solace since before the first war. So many terrifying years later and it was one of the few constants in his life. He had never taken anyone else there. Maybe it was time to share it with someone. With her…

Curling his toes and remembering back to the night before, he felt as if he had gotten it just right. The dinner gave them time to connect and begin cultivating what he hoped would be a deep friendship. The movie and the fact that it was favorite of them both, well, that had to be a positive omen, right? Seriously, what were the odds? The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was a somewhat obscure film. Their affinity for it might bode well for the future of their relationship.

Future…the smile slipped from his face. Yes, he had successfully navigated their first date but other dates were expected. This was courting, after all. He was once again struck with the same dread that enveloped him when planning last night's outing. What to do next? It must be better than last night. It had to be perfect. She deserved nothing less. And, if he were honest with himself, he felt he had to be perfect. For though he was as imperfect a human being as ever there was, still she still wanted him, was attracted to him, admired him even. To buoy her enthusiasm and assure she never realized how distorted her views on him were, he had to make each second together better than the last. He would dazzle her so she would be blinded to his obvious defects and deficiencies. There were so many wizards in the world more deserving of her goodness. More handsome, more kind, more balanced, more socially adept, more everything. (Except intelligent, of course, he was hard pressed to think of a wizard more intelligent.) He squeezed his eyes closed in a grimace and shook his head. No! He would not doubt himself nor her any longer. She wanted him as he wanted her. He would not mistrust her regard for him. He would not mistrust her.

The tightness pressing on his chest let up some as he resolved to not overthink the beginning of "them" and instead enjoy it. If all went well, there would no other for him and so he would relish each stage of their growing bond. He determined not to sour it with uncertainty or faintheartedness.

With that mantra firmly in his head, he rose and began his morning routine. Though it felt like a Saturday morning, it was not. Hogwarts awaited. He sped through his shower, unwilling to spend any unnecessary time away from her.

He was late to his seat on the dais. This was an almost unprecedented occurrence. Two professors were there before him. One of them, of course, was Minerva. She flicked a sideways glance at him, the beginnings of a smirk upon her face. What did she know? He and Hermione had decided not to mention their burgeoning association to others. There was no need to put more pressure upon their heads by adding the weight of other's opinions. But did McGonnagall know or suspect something?

"Good Morning, Minerva."

"Good Morning, Severus. Something kept you abed later than usual," she replied in the prim but casual manner he was all too familiar with.

Best to play nonchalant. No need to give her cause for suspicion. "Alas, age comes to us all. Some mornings I find it harder to rise than others."

Minerva seemed to have inhaled her drink because she choked and coughed a bit before regaining the ability to speak. Looking over his shoulder while dabbing her mouth with a napkin, she smiled and murmured, "I'm sure you have good reason to rise as of late…"

As he arched a brow in question at her, faint footsteps sounded behind him and then a greeting, "Good Morning, Minerva." In a breathier tone, "Good Morning, Headmaster." She moved to her chair and settled in for breakfast. He was left with a hint of lime blossom, bergamot, and petitgrain. He unconsciously inhaled deeply and felt a sudden yearning for her.

Heat rose to his cheeks and Minerva glanced his way in a calculating manner gauging his reaction. "Are you alright, Severus? Mayhap you should return to bed until you are fully recovered."

Sharper than he meant to, he retorted, "Fully recovered from what? Meddlesome employees?" At the turn of a few heads at his tone, he murmured, "Must my sleeping habits be a topic of conversation. I find it intrusive."

Leave it to Minerva to burst his bubble. He just wanted to be away from everyone except Hermione. Away from this building full of memories, responsibilities, expectations, stereotypes. Suddenly, the air seemed stale and thick and he felt too large for the walls to contain him. There was nothing for it. He must slip out and fly until the feeling subsided. He'd be of use to no one until then. Maybe he could muse on ideas for future outings with her. Didn't she have a birthday coming up? As he rose and strode from the hall without looking back, he decided to make a stop in his office and check her personal files for the date. He had plans to make.

"Hermione, dear, come sit next to me." Severus had just silently departed in a flow of black robes and with Filius not attending breakfast this morning, there was a moment to speak alone with her favorite alumna.

Sipping on juice, and noticing Severus gone, Hermione moved to the seat next to Minerva. She felt as if a sign reading 'I went out with the Headmaster last night' was hanging from her forehead. She tried to act natural.

"I've hardly seen you, lass. Are you enjoying teaching? Anyone giving you troubles?" Minerva arched a brow as she began her inquiry. Hermione had known this was coming, but it didn't mean she was prepared for it. She felt giddy and vulnerable. Best to let her nervous energy be taken for excitement.

"Everything is wonderful, Minerva! The children are very receptive to the changes in curriculum. I'm thinking of bringing Arthur Weasley in next month to speak to the class. I owled him before the start of term to see if he might bring in some of his Muggle artifacts and have a class discussion on what Wizards interpret these items to be versus what they actually are. Arthur said he is looking forward to finding out the answers himself. He's still not sure what half of them are meant for." Stopping to take a deep breath, she glanced at Minerva and was unsettled to see a calculating look on her face. "What? Have I got something on my face."

"Yes, a lovely blush," replied Minerva while facing the hall again to resume eating. "You're rather animated this morning. What has brought on such vim, Hermione?"

"I just slept well last night and it's Friday, of course, so there is the weekend to look forward to."

"Ah, yes, there is that. Do you have any plans? Visiting the Potters or the Weasleys perhaps?" Minerva seemed almost normal again. This put Hermione on guard.

"No plans. The boys are working this weekend, Ginny's is playing with the Harpies on the Continent, Luna is in Peru hunting for something or other. I'll just be organizing my quarters, completing lesson plans and the like."

"You know what they say about all work and no play. You're too young to be cooped up here seven days a week." Then with a delighted "oh," she half-turned to Hermione and stage whispered, "Here's someone who might distract you from work." Following Minerva's eyes, Hermione looked up to find a familiar looking wizard striding confidently towards the head table. Cycling through a list of Hogwarts graduates in her head, she arrived at the answer quickly, "Roger Davies."

"Yes, our rather dashing Undersecretary for the Department of Magical Education. And if I'm not mistaken, he's here to see you."

Tearing her eyes away from the approaching man – and he was most definitely a man now judging by his muscular build and neatly trimmed beard – she squeaked "Me?!"

Minerva chuckled. "Of course, you. Do you not remember that Muggle Studies is being taught in cooperation with the Ministry? I thought Severus told you."

"Yes, of course, he did. I just expected correspondence of some type instead of an unannounced arrival."

The elder professor couldn't refrain from sarcastically replying, "Hmmph, that would be far too organized for our government." Lowering her voice so that the nearing Mr. Davies could not overhear, Minerva then lilted smugly, "But if I were you, I wouldn't be complaining about a personal visit from the reigning Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor."

Hermione shot a mildly horrified glance at her mentor before wrestling her face into a pleasant blank to smile in welcome at their visitor. After all, she would have to be working with the Department of Magical Education for the foreseeable future. Best to not start off on the wrong foot.


End file.
